


Nice

by allcanadiangirl (andchimeras)



Series: Maroon & Gold [5]
Category: Everwood
Genre: Blood, Bruises, Frottage, M/M, Rough Sex, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-30
Updated: 2003-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchimeras/pseuds/allcanadiangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ephram's eyes bright. Going narrow. Mouth thinning. He looks away.</p><p>"You can go," he says. Cold and hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice

Basement again. After practise. Fist in Ephram's neck, Ephram's hand on his shoulder.

"Again," he says.

Ephram's back against the wall. Ephram holding him. Bright cuts through, each blow, kidneys, ribs.

Basement again and fast, reckless. Wreck Ephram's jeans pulling them open. Pull him away from the wall, swing him around. Face again, mouth, nose. Bright shoves him. Ephram stumbles, stepping back, and.

Falls. Hands behind, slipping out from under.

Bright over him. Hand in Ephram's jeans, when. Ephram opens his eyes.

Blood on his cheek, on his neck, Ephram's eyes calm.

It's when he has Ephram's spit-slick blood on his knuckles, caked under his fingernails. Ephram smiles. No teeth, just a little. But. Ephram breathing shallow, arching up into Bright's hand. Hard.

"Come on," he says. "Get the fuck on with it."

Bright wants.

Bright leans his free hand on Ephram's chest, crushing him down. Ephram's hands spread open on the cement floor, pressing. He strokes up under the head of Ephram's cock with his thumb.

"Fuck," he says, neck snapping to exposure. Mouth wide.

When Bright pulls up, bending him, Ephram chokes out a scream.

Blood, a quick red thread running from the corner of his mouth down his cheek to his jaw. Disappearing under the darkness of his neck, into his hair. Slow.

"Again," he says. Thin. Not a whisper. Hoarse. "Do that again."

Bright doesn't. Leans in, licks the trail back up to Ephram's lips. And. He rests. There. Doesn't let go. Just stops moving. Wants something slow. More.

"Don't fucking stop," Ephram says. "Jesus—"

He bites his lip. He tries to fuck Bright's hand.

Bright moves over. Moves until he's over Ephram, knee on either side. Ephram is. In his shadow, lying in his shadow on the grey floor, staring up.

"Fuck," he says. "What—"

Hands steady. Above Ephram's shoulders. He comes in, goes in. He bends his elbows until his mouth is. There. At the corner of Ephram's mouth again. Where he, where Ephram smiled.

And he. He wants more. He. Presses his tongue slowly, licks the bead down to Ephram's jaw, dark slightly sour taste of drying blood, and back, slowly, runs it around the inside of Ephram's bottom lip. A deep noise, thrilling, as Ephram's teeth open. Rusty taste, quick hot breath, Ephram shuddering.

Slowly. Deep and slow, and pressure sliding up his arms.

It's when a hand comes around the back of his neck, holding him closer, fingers moving over denim. Over Bright's ass, hitching him closer, pulling him down. Fingers digging in, not enough. That's. Ephram pulls on Bright's lower lip, bites in, not hard enough, and sucks on his tongue. And this is when that hand moves back, around the front of Bright's jeans. This is when.

Bright breathes in, finds a fresh bite on the inside of Ephram's cheek, presses it for more. The slow spit-diluted trickle of blood, wet in Ephram's wet mouth, and he feels. This is when.

Button pops against his stomach, fingers pushing in. Too much.

Stop, Bright thinks, please.

This is when.

Ephram pulls his dick out, pulls him so much, down, into. When.

Stop, Bright thinks, his mouth opens, he'll say it, he will. But.

Touch. Hard and soft and Ephram's fingers touching both of them. Thick wetness, Ephram's tongue thick in his mouth.

Not. Not enough air. Bright can't. Doesn't want. He straightens his arms, breaks. Away. Back. Up from Ephram's mouth and the. Oh. The smell of Ephram's blood on his skin. Just, under his skin, blooming dark clouds at the base of his neck. Fingertips. Bright goes there, licks. Can almost taste that time. And the thick purple deadness there.

Ephram's hand. On his back, he can still breathe, Bright can hear his breath. Quick, and these quick sounds. It's always been mostly silent. Bone and muscle tight on Ephram's throat.

Ephram's bruise between his teeth.

A small whimper.

It's when.

"Again," Ephram says. "More."

And he bites again. Ephram moves his hips.

Up. In. And down again.

The direction. Bright tugs on skin, moves too, motion like. Kick drum. Better than mouth, than hand, the slide. Ephram's hot. Wet. Skin against his.

Skin, fingers, feels like they're trembling but it must be Bright who's shaking. Because Ephram. Ephram is calm. Always. Under his shirt, up his spine. Back. Down again, into his jeans, under his boxers, squeezing.

So hot. Not hard enough. Bright wants. Stop, he breathes into Ephram's neck. Tell me, he bites into Ephram's neck, tell me to stop.

A long sound, low. And Ephram's knees hitting the backs of Bright's thighs. Up.

Bright moves too, his hand. His hand, around Ephram's hip. Lifting. Ephram's hand opening on his ass. Bright wants bruises. He digs his fingers in.

"More," Ephram says. "Never—fuck."

He holds harder, pushes harder.

And Ephram's hand is sticky on Bright's cheek, pulling his head away. Bringing it. Moving it. And Ephram leans up into his mouth. Rough, hard, teeth and Bright tastes blood again in the corner of Ephram's lips.

The thick smells, and. They're not even breaking contact anymore. Just. Nudging. But hard, slow. Bright closes his teeth on Ephram's tongue, slides his mouth away. To. Ephram's jaw, and up, and Ephram's ear.

Hair a little long. Covers a scar. Curve of lines faint red on pink skin. Only shows when he blushes and when he. Bright finds it, licks. Ephram jerks.

"Jesus," he says, and this. "Don't stop."

When he's close.

Ephram grits his teeth, clenches. His jaw tight, Bright can feel it, runs his tongue down that line too.

"Fuck," he says. Hard jump of his hips and Ephram is.

Short flexes against Bright's straining dick, he can feel it and that. That is.

Thick and wet.

Ephram is. All over. Too much. Inside. He is thick and wet. Tastes like copper.

Bright opens his eyes, looks at Ephram closing his tightly. Biting his bottom lip. He stops moving. Stop. And it. Rises, pressure. Hard as. Pushes through him. Can't stop.

He pushes once more, one last slide through the wet, deep. Flinches with each contraction. Almost. So much. Almost hurts.

His eyes closed again. Thick yellow behind Ephram's shadow on the grey floor.

Cement under his forehead. Arm around his back. Press and thick lift of breathing beneath him. He weighs too much. Wet on his cheek.

Voice. Ephram.

"Bright," he says. Not. Not calm. Cracked.

And Ephram's fingers. On his face, under his eye, moving down, touching his mouth. Light. Not enough. Bright wants bruises.

Lightning burn of his arms pushing away. Knocks Ephram's knee hard, not hard enough. Past. Up.

Standing. Wants escape, and the sound of metal stairs under his feet. Turns away, shove it. In, zip no button because no time. Denim heavy. Wet. Shirt? Also wet. Jacket. Not wet. Good.

Looking back.

Ephram's still there, sitting up, wet shirt, wet with blood and come and.

"Jesus Christ," he says. Eyes wide. "What."

Bright's hand. Skin tight with dried blood and. Through his hair. Cooling sweat and. Sticky. He shrugs. "I—"

Ephram's eyes bright. Going narrow. Mouth thinning. He looks away.

"You can go," he says. Cold and hard. "Fuck off."

Bright leaves. Balance failing, feet move back, and again. Stepping back. Got to catch himself. Keep from falling.

Outside, the wind is cold, Bright touches his fingertips to the darkened fabric of his shirt. Watches it stick to his skin. Shivers.

 

End.


End file.
